


Concerning The British Government and A Detective Inspector

by TheBigBadWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, British Government, Danger, Decisions, Established Johnlock, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, Love Bites, M/M, Snogging, Yard's finest, hazards of the job, injuries, mystrade, surprise at the end, though mystrade is the focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigBadWolf/pseuds/TheBigBadWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes have know each other for six years now, a certain situation puts things into perspective but the ever sensible Detective Inspector knew these things didn't come easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning The British Government and A Detective Inspector

“Lestrade, this is low.” Sherlock shot daggers at the Detective Inspector.

“Well don’t with hold evidence.” Greg only smiled; he knew exactly what he had interrupted. Poor John was desperately trying to hide the bite marks trailing down his neck but Lestrade could see right through it.

“Leave. Now.” Sherlock’s snarl turned into a low growl. “I swear Lestrade if you don’t leave…”

“You wouldn’t be threatening an officer of the law, now would you?” John may have tamed the beast, but Sherlock Holmes was still an ass. Even at his best. “Just tell me where to find the sniper. I know you know so come on, if you don’t tell me I’ll have Anderson search the flat.” Lestrade could have sworn Sherlock muttered _‘I’m clean’_ under his breath. For a moment Greg felt bad but Sherlock really had been a complete git during the entire case.

“Greg.” John pleaded but Sherlock only stepped between his doctor and the inspector.

“Fine. He’s is-” The shot rang out through 221B Baker Street. Lestrade recovered himself only seconds later. John had Sherlock pinned and was searching for any injury. Greg had his pistol ready and was scanning the flat, when he found the shattered glass he knew exactly who had shot at them. It wasn’t meant as a kill shot but rather a warning shot. The sniper, Alex Kensington, was warning them to stay away.

“John?” Lestrade kept searching the flat; he needed to find where the bullet was embedded.

“Greg…” Watson’s voice had gone soft and shook a bit. Before Lestrade could give him a questioning look the doctor was on him, ripping his jacket off. Why was he ripping his jacket off?

“Sherlock.” John clearly had snapped out of whatever fear had taken him. “Sherlock I need a bowl with warm water, two clean cloths, also grab the alcohol from the bathroom cabinet.” When Sherlock didn’t move John barked at him. “Now Sherlock!”

“What…..What the hell?” Lestrade was trying to fight John off but the doctor had an iron grip on him.

“Stop moving!” John snarled and Lestrade froze. Watson, from god only knows where, pulled a knife out and was quickly cutting away Greg’s shirt. Sherlock had come back in carrying everything John had sent him for. When John managed to get Lestrade’s shirt off all three looked down to assess the damage. There was a lot of blood; it was starting to cake all across Greg’s abdomen. John voiced his diagnosis. “The bullet grazed you, but took out quite a bit of skin and even tore some muscle. You’ll need a bit of surgery. Sherlock mix some alcohol in with the water and dip one of the cloths in. Hand it here.” Sherlock working just as quick as John did. “This will hurt.” That was the only warning Greg had got. Watson began washing away blood and cleaning the wound. The only thing Lestrade could do was throw his head back and try his best not to squirm and scream. He was in shock and wanted nothing more than to just pass out. He could have sworn he heard John apologize a few times.

It wasn’t until Greg was wrapped up and John was practically carrying him out to an ambulance that he noticed all the people swarming about the flat. Groups of men in black suits were buzzing about and Sherlock was barking out profanities. John forced the inspector onto the stretcher and went over to talk with the EMT. Greg just put his head in his hands and was grateful for the painkillers one of the responders was shooting into him.

………

When Lestrade woke he was in a hospital bed with a horrid pain shooting through his side. Sitting up he let out a string of curses.

“Gregory, it would suit you better to lie down.” Mycroft Holmes dressed impeccably and brolly in hand, was giving him a disapproving look.

“Fuck.” Greg’s voice was rough and his speech slurred with painkillers. “Sh’lock, he okay?”

“My brother is fine. It is you who needs the attention.” Mycroft looked about and pulled the horridly pink hospital chair closer to the bed and sat down. Greg tried his best to make sense of things but his brain was terribly muddled. Minutes had passed before either of them continued their conversation, Greg’s painkillers were slowly wearing off and his thoughts were becoming clearer.

“Why…” Lestrade stumbled a bit but quickly recovered. “Why are you here?” He looked over at the impossibly still man.

“Obviously I’m here to make sure you are well.” His voice and face betrayed nothing, of course it never did.

“Everyone’s agreed on a cease-fire then? I’m flattered.” Lestrade tried to stretch a bit but only ended up wincing in pain.

“Gregory.” Mycroft smiled a bit.

“You don’t have to be here you know. I’m not dead; hell the bullet only grazed me.” Another wince.

“Just barely.” Greg thought he heard concern in Mycroft’s voice but his face still betrayed nothing. He continued. “Sherlock had given me the needed information and the matter concerning Mr. Kensington has been resolved.” Lestrade tried to hold back a shudder, if Mycroft was involved the sniper would most likely be begging for his life at the moment.

“Thank you.” Greg would have tried to clear his throat if he hadn’t thought it would send pain shooting through his side again. Instead he changed the subject. “You’ve spoken to the doctors, yeah?”

“Don’t worry Gregory, you’ll be out tomorrow. However the Yard is putting you on paid leave. You’ll have a week for recovery.” Mycroft picked at an invisible string hanging from the chair’s arm.

“Under whose influence exactly?” Greg managed a skeptical look.

“Standard procedure Gregory.” Mycroft tried to shoot him a look but it turned into a genuine smile. Lestrade and Mycroft had known each other for nearly six years, neither of them could hide much from the other. Greg couldn’t hide much from the start but the elder Holmes was surprised when he realized he couldn’t either.  Both had agreed on a mutual friendship of sorts but nothing personal had ever come of it. Lestrade had been injured and hospitalized several times over those six years and Mycroft had each time, extended his sympathies. This however, this was new.

“Mycroft.” Greg just looked at the other man expectantly.

“It’s nothing Gregory.” He gave a wave of his hand as if the brush thought from Greg’s mind entirely. Lestrade didn’t say anything but kept his gaze on Holmes. Mycroft shifted in his seat, damn Gregory Lestrade. How could he of all people get the upper hand on him?

“Mycroft Holmes.” Greg kept his tone soft.

“Surveillance should have picked him up and he should have been neutralized before he could even set up his rifle. Such a mistake is inexcusable.” Mycroft’s voice was low and steady but had an edge to it.

“It’s been taken care of now, no damage done. Better late than not at all, yeah?” Greg gave him a small smile, only he got a mixed look in response. Mycroft’s expression was somewhere between horror and disgust.

“You could have died Gregory.”

“Bollocks!”

“Gregory.” At this Lestrade froze, his name sounded like a plea.

“Oi. What is this?” Greg looked at him, he wasn’t going to dance around **this** not when he was in pain and slightly pissed off, though only in general. Mycroft looked him straight in the eye and opened his mouth as if to say something. Quickly snapping his jaw shut, he turned away. Mycroft didn't sit by beds and worry, he didn't fuss over injuries. The only time hed had ever shown his cards was when his brother nearly overdosed. Greg knew that having Mycroft there meant something, in fact he knew exactly what it meant. They had been bordering on this for a few years but had in some way silently agreed not to over step the line. Lestrade assumed this latest injury was what broke the line, he figured it must have really rattled the man that a potential danger has slipped through his careful defences. 

………

Two days after his rather confusing conversation in the hospital with Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade was back in his flat doing his best to make just one damn cup of coffee without feeling pain shred through him. A broken mug and two painkillers later he managed to make it over to couch and sit down. Sipping at his coffee he flipped through television channels, scowling at the lack of interesting programmes. Settling on a repeat football match he sat back and relaxed.

Greg woke up to take-away containers being arranged on his coffee table. He made to stand up but then thought better of it; sudden movement wouldn’t exactly be the best for him.

“You did not eat at the hospital nor have you eaten since your release. That is not healthy Gregory.” That wonderfully low voice’s owner was drifting about Greg’s flat cleaning and rearranging.

“Mycroft, I don’t need coddled.” Greg picked a container and dug in. “Sit.” Greg motioned to the chair just off to the left of the couch. “You need to eat too.” Mycroft obediently sat down but only watched Greg, making no move to eat. For a moment they just sat there staring at one another. “Either we both eat or I don’t eat at all.” Greg meant it as a serious threat but he couldn’t hold the smile back. Mycroft, letting some tension out from his shoulders followed suit and in minutes both men were tearing through the take-away and watching crap telly.

It was getting late and they were both sipping at coffee, courtesy of Mycroft, when Lestrade decided to break the silence between them.

“Thank you. Dinner was….” He struggled for a word. “Dinner was good.”

“You should eat well Gregory, you would heal faster.” Again Mycroft’s face was not going to betray a thing.

“You’re worrying about me.” Greg put his mug down on the table.

“I’m merely looking out for your well being.” Mycroft mirrored him.

“And why would that be?”

“You’ve been essential to me; I’m simply ensuring your safety.” He looked away.

“Essential?”

“Gregory.” Again his name sounded like a plea.

“You fancy me.” It wasn’t a question. Mycroft’s shot up straight in his chair and stared straight into Lestrade’s eyes. “Oh come off it, you do. Don't you? There is no use in denying it.” He gently leaned forward make sure to pay careful attention to his side. “I’m not as useless are your git of a brother says.” He watched Mycroft for a moment; clearly the man was waging war inside himself, though Lestrade was sure it was only something he could see.

“Forgive me. It’s gotten late and I must leave.” Mycroft swiftly stood, grabbed his coat and was about to leave.

“Wait!” Greg stood up which was a terrible idea, doubling over in pain he let a quick string of curses out. Mycroft was at his side before he could even form a thought besides _‘Fuck! That hurts.’_

“Gregory.” His own name was breathless in his ear and it would have be turn on if he weren’t in pain. Minutes later he was settled back down on the couch. Mycroft made to move away and this time Greg didn’t or rather couldn’t stop him.

Lestrade leaned into the couch and closed his eyes. “Come back tomorrow then?” Greg was hoping Mycroft had heard him but wasn’t sure. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he had been and it wasn’t long until he fell asleep.

………

Greg had managed a shower and change of clothes all the while stressing over the previous night. Now it was well after two and he was just getting around to eating lunch he was flipping through his record collection when he realized he hadn’t had a proper day off in years and now had three days left to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Hello?” He pushed a few records to the side; he didn’t really know what he was in the mood for.

“Gregory.” Mycroft’s voice was curt.

“Mycroft.” Lestrade suddenly did care for any of the records.

“Am I correct in assuming your invitation is still valid?”

“What?” It took Lestrade a moment to catch up. “Oh! Yeah. Yes, yes you’re more than um…..more than welcome to….to come over.” Greg was desperately trying to sound coherent.

“Good. Seven o’clock would be fine with you?”

“Yeah, perfect.” Greg was smiling like a fool. With nothing else they both mutually hung up. Greg spent a good two hours sorting through and playing records though he hadn’t really listened to any of it. Giving up on music he turned his efforts to straightening up the flat though there wasn’t much to do. The last two hours he spent anxiously watching, but not really watching, re-run panel shows.

When seven came around Greg was up and at the door before Mycroft could even ring the bell. To his surprise he was able to move without his side bothering him too much. When he opened the door he could see a flicker of shock run across Mycroft’s face but it was gone as quick as it had come.

“Come on then.” He laughed a bit and motioned the man inside. “Bring dinner did ya’?” He nodded to the take-away bags in Mycroft’s hand. “Here hand them over.” He took the bags and headed for the kitchen.

“Gregory, you should be resting.”

“I’m feeling much better thanks. And how was your day?” Lestrade gave him a sincere smile.

“Gregory.”

“You do that a lot you know.” He began arranging food onto plates. “Say my name. Say it like that.” When he finished he turned around to face Mycroft. “I actually like it. You saying my name like that.” When Mycroft didn’t say anything he continued. “You wear that ring but I know you’re not married, I do the same.” Greg twirled his own for the moment he left off the comment about not being married _anymore_. “There is nothing holding you back you know.” Still no response. Greg sighed, clearly stubborness was a Holmes family trait. “Alright, alright. Dinner and crap telly?” He handed Mycroft a plate and made his way over to the couch, when Mycroft did the same he turned the re-run panel shows back on.

Later that night when Mycroft decided it had gotten reasonably late enough and was about to leave Lestrade stopped him on his way out the door. Grabbing that ever immaculate tie of his he pulled Mycroft down and crushed a kiss onto his lips. It was quick and rough but Lestrade enjoyed it all the same. After he pulled back he looked away and blushed. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Mycroft’s voice was quiet. “Gregory.” And on that he turned on his heel and left, Lestrade could have sworn he heard that devlish grin spread across the man's face.

……………

It was half past six and Lestrade only had two days left to his ‘week of recovery’ and he was excited to spend the evening with Mycroft Holmes. For the past few nights all he had done was eaten diner and watched shit panel shows with him and he couldn’t have been happier about it. Of course over the years it had become easy to be around him when everybody else just found him intimidating, but recently things have changed and he was hoping for the better. It wasn’t until Mycroft had called and they had finished their conversation did Lestrade truly feel like everything had gone horribly wrong instead.

He had said he understood and he had in some way. To both of them work was everything so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Mycroft told him that he had to fly out to ‘take care of some pressing business.’ He understood fully what Mycroft Holmes did for a living but it didn’t stop the hurt of what felt like rejection. Greg had felt even more upset when he was told that the trip would last for about a week or so. He couldn’t blame Mycroft, he really couldn’t but he remember how he felt waking up in the hospital and having that posh git there to greet him. He often thought about how lonely he was after his divorce and how easy it had been just to be around the man, it didn’t occur to him until just recently that he actually had some serious feelings for him.

Lestrade cursed himself for acting like a teenager and just decided to distract himself until his ‘week of recovery’ was up.

………

 Back at work Lestrade began to feel a bit more like himself; he was able to keep focused on his job and thankfully that took up most of his time. Every now and again he would move a certain way and the tightness in his side would leave him feeling uncomfortable but by medical standards he was completely healed.

On his third day back Sherlock was in his office begging for a case with John trying to calm him down. “Sherlock I just can't pull a murder out of my arse. You survived a week without me and you can certainly last however long it takes for something to come up.” Shuffling through files he tried not to sound annoyed. “We are in London after all; it shouldn’t be too long now.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Sherlock whipped his phone out and sent out a quick text.

“You’re in my office. That’s what’s wrong with me.” Greg all but stared him down. He would have kept at if his own phone hadn’t gone off.

**I apologize for my brother’s inappropriate conduct and any crude comments he may have made. I’m sure John would be more than willing to drag him from the Yard if you were to ask. MH**

Greg stared at his phone disbelievingly. “Christ Sherlock! Get the hell out of my office!” Greg was out of his chair and all but growling at the younger Holmes.

“Interesting.” Sherlock took another moment to analyze the Detective Inspector then turned on his heel and left with John Watson in tow.

“And what was that about?” John was doing his best to keep up, Sherlock only smirked.

"Just a bit of revenge." Sherlock flipped his phone in his hand and smiled to himself.

Greg sat back down and buried his face in his hands, he didn’t even want to know what Sherlock had texted his brother.

……

When Mycroft returned he had every intention of inviting Gregory Lestrade out for a formal dinner. His intentions were, however, overshadowed by the fact that Lestrade was working on a very important case. Mycroft himself had a bit of business to attend to as well. With conflicting schedules he hadn’t the chance to apologize and it was tearing him apart.

………

Lestrade ducked behind a heating unit, those two gits ran off again without a second thought about the lunatic they were chasing. If they survived this he was really going to lay into them this time. Greg moved to step around the unit when the barrel of a gun gently connected with his temple. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath.

“Gun down. Slowly.” The man’s voice may have been shaky but his hands weren’t. Lestrade did as he was told. “Turn away, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head.” His heart racing, Greg complied. With the gun pressed to the back of his head he had two options. He opted for the one that _didn’t_ involve his execution. In a matter of seconds the gun was on the ground and the two men were beating each other senseless.

Lestrade was able to chin the man but in turn took an elbow to his bad side. Doubling over in pain, Greg lost his footing. Now on the losing end of the fight the best he could do was take the punches and kicks and keep the man away from the gun that was now, thankfully, nearly six feet away from where they were rolling around.

His vision was failing and his attempts at regaining control were having no effect. He was so close to giving up when he heard a familiar voice. He did his best to breathe a sigh of relief but it hurt more than anything to do so. Donovan and her team had descended on them and the bashing had stopped. With the man dragged off of him and cuffed he was able to just lay back and wait for the emergency responders to do their job. Donovan was barking orders and John and Sherlock were still missing. He decided that he really was going to rip into them later.

From the back of the ambulance Lestrade had begun shouting orders. Apparently his ‘friend’ hadn’t been the only gunman hanging about the abandoned warehouse. From the information he had gotten the second gunman had had a bit of a row with a soldier and a psychopath. He lost.

With cuts on his lips, eyebrow, chest, and even legs, a bloody mouth, twisted wrist, and bruises on every inch of his body he counted himself lucky. He couldn’t stop thinking about the pistol that had rested against his temple. That was the second time that month he had come close to the wrong end of a bullet. Clutching his side he walked around until he found the two sods he was looking for.

“Greg! You alright mate?” To his benefit Watson didn’t try to play doctor.

“Bit bruised nothing I can’t take. You?” John looked down; Lestrade could tell he felt guilty.

“Yeah, we’re okay.” The doctor cleared his throat.  

Sherlock who was texting viciously into his phone didn’t even look up let alone acknowledge anyone’s existence aside from John’s. Even then it was only because John had his fingers entwined with the detective’s possessively.

“Right, well both of you need to give statements. I’ll find Donovan and we’ll head back to the Yard.” At that Sherlock opened his mouth and looked up. “No.” Greg cut him off. “Not his time Sherlock. We are finishing this now.” Lestrade saw John’s hand squeeze Sherlock’s, thankful for John’s help he nodded and turned away to find Sally.

………

It was nearly midnight when Lestrade caught a cab home from the Yard.

“Fucking hell.” When the cab pulled up to his flat he noticed the familiar black government car.

When he opened his door he cringed at his confirmed suspicions. The overly dressed Mycroft Holmes was standing in the middle of his flat with take-away bags in his hand. Though he nearly dropped them when saw the state Greg was in. Lestrade closed the door and walked to the end of the short hallway. Shrugging off his jacket, he leaned against the door frame.

“I’m sorry Mycroft, I just want a bit of rest tonight.” He pinched his brow. “No telly, no dinner.”

“Gregory I—”

“Stop. Just stop this.” Lestrade looked up at him; it wasn’t his injuries that were hurting him. “You don’t…you don’t have to do this. Any of this.” He waved his hand about. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Mycroft gently put the bags on the table and removed his own jacket and his tie too.

“I want to do this.” Without looking at Lestrade he set the food out just like he had that first night.

“Myc?” He faltered a bit. “You know we would be absolute shit at this. I like you, I really do. A whole hell of a lot too but the other night got me thinking. We wouldn’t be able to…..” He trailed off. “With work and everything else…..” another sentence left unfinished. Mycroft squared his shoulder and looked at him.

“Gregory we are both very dedicated to our work but I’m afraid I cannot simply let slide your actions of the other night.” He straightened his already perfect waistcoat. “Nor could I pass up such opportunity.” Greg’s uncut eyebrow shot up. The room had gone a bit tense. “I watched my brother dance around such confessions for three years; I however pride myself on being efficient.”

“There would be missed dinners, canceled dates, and vague excuses. We would have to fight for our time together.” Lestrade shifted a bit.

“Neither of us have gone into this…" He corrected himself "Will go into this blind Gregory. We are both aware of each other’s circumstances.”

“You can’t-” Greg stepped forward “You can’t delegate this like you do with countries.” Mycroft closed the remaining space between them.

“I would never.” Mycroft reached out and brushed a hand along Lestrade’s jaw. Greg closed his eyes and leaned into it, it wasn’t until he felt the same hand land on the nape of his next and the other on hip that realized exactly where they were taking this. Still with eyes closed Lestrade felt lips on his, they were soft and gentle and patient. Greg parted his own to deepen the kiss, he licked is way into the other man’s mouth taking every liberty given to him. When he managed a very suggestive noise from Mycroft he took it a step further and pulled him in closer. Hands from both sides were pulling at fabric and searching for skin. When Greg all but ripped the waist coat off of Mycroft he realized that he himself was missing a shirt. Mycroft had abandoned the kiss and was instead more focused on the various scars and bruises that littered the inspector. When he looked Lestrade in the eyes he thought the man might cry.

“Only hazards of the job. I’m proud of each one.” Greg reached up and nipped at Mycroft’s lips and they continued with their passionate turned almost dirty snogging. When Mycroft wrapped an arm around him to pull him in, Greg grunted and winced. Mycroft froze.

“Perhaps we should postpone such activities for a later date.” Lestrade groaned in disappointment. “Gregory.” Lestrade was getting that look again, he had a feeling he would be getting that look often.

“Yeah. If I’m going to bed the British Government I’m going to do it right!” Greg laughed a kissed away the scowl that was working its way across Mycroft’s face, and before he could say anything Lestrade walked passed and picked up a few take-away containers. “Dinner and crap telly then?”

“I’d be honored.” Smiling he followed Greg back to the couch, though they agreed on dinner and crap telly it turned out to be more dinner and heavy snogging. Neither of them complained about it though.

 

 

** A Year And A Half Later **

Much to Sherlock’s dismay John had invited Mycroft and Lestrade to their annual Christmas drinkies. When they arrived the Holmes brothers exchanged glances, Sherlock after that had become oddly pleasant extremely quick. Though everybody was in such high spirits they all just took it as a Christmas miracle. After the festivities and drinks they all agreed on opening presents. When it came to Lestrade and Mycroft’s turn Sherlock, without a word, stood and reached for his violin and played a soft melody. Mycroft in turn gracefully slid onto one knee in front of his dear detective inspector.

“Gregory Lestrade. Will you marry me?” The whole room silenced, save for the Sherlock’s violin. Although that too went quiet when Greg answered and then proceeded to snog his fiancé in front of the entire group.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My plan is to write a bit of a smutty honeymoon but that is for a later date. ;P Let me know what you thought!


End file.
